PR 



£8 

aunBdOH 



SWXnHOiQ 



qqobq 



wssi 




.** ..1'^L*. > 



l0v - 




o° " c 

































4 o 



* A 











J ^v 







f+ '- 











r; s * a 




<r . 











I o 






r* a 



<r 






*\ a^ ♦WW ^- c^ 1 







I* 1 



% 



°c 







% 



°c 



h 



SONGS IN THE SOUTH 



,y 



>v* 



O 1 



°c 



°i 



> > 



^ 



o 

c 






*< 



\ 






Z 'i 






u 



CHI5V/ICK PRESS :— C. VVHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT, 
CHANCERY LAN"- 



!* 



SONGS IN THE SOUTH 



o 

c 



BY 



RENNELL RODD W*t\ p^ 







o 

c 



LONDON 

DAVID BOGUE 
3, St. Martin's Place, Trafalgar Square 



TO 

MY FATHER. 






■o< 



v 









CONTENTS. 

SONGS IN THE SOUTH. 
No. Page 

I. From the Hill of Gardens 1 1 

II. In the Coliseum 13 

III. At Tiber Mouth 14 

IV. A Roman Mirror 19 

V. By the South Sea 21 

VI. In a Church 25 

VII. At Lanuvium 28 

VIII. Lucciole 30 

IX. "If any One Return" 32 

SONNETS. 

I. " Une heure viendra qui tout paiera " 37 

II. Althea 38 

III. Imperator Augustus 39 

IV. " Atque in perpetuum frater ave atque vale " . . 40 

SONGS. 

I. Long after 43 

II. "Where the Rhone goes down to the Sea" ... 45 

III. Maidenhair 47 

IV. A Song of Autumn 48 



CONTENTS. 



No. Page 

I. Atalanta 51 

II. "When I am Dead" 53 

III. " Those days are long departed " 55 

IV. After Heine 57 

V. Endymion 58 

VI. Disillusion 61 

VII. Requiescat 63 







^ 



SONGS IN THE SOUTH. 






V* 



v* 



**. 



•%. 



From the Hill of Gardens. 

r I A HE outline of a shadowy city spread 
- L Between the garden and the distant hill — 
And o'er yon dome the flame-ring lingers still, 
Set like the glory on an angel's head : 
The light fades quivering into evening blue 
Behind the pine-tops on Ianiculum ; 
The swallow whispered to the swallow " come ! " 
And took the sunset on her wings, and flew. 

One rift of cloud the wind caught up suspending 
A ruby path between the earth and sky ; 
Those shreds of gold are angel wings ascending 
From where the sorrows of our singers lie ; 
They have not found those wandering spirits yet, 
But seek for ever in the red sunset. 

Pass upward angel wings ! Seek not for these, 
They sit not in the cypress-planted graves ; 
Their spirits wander over moonlit waves, 
And sing in ail the singing of the seas ; 



FROM THE HILL OF GARDENS. 

And by green places in the spring-tide showers, 
And in the re-awakening of flowers. 



Some pearl-lipped shell still dewy with sea foam 
Bear back to whisper where their feet have trod ; 
They are the earth's for ever more ; fly home ! 
And lay a daisy at the feet of God. 




13 



In the Coliseum. 

Vf IGHT wanes ; I sit in the ruin alone ; 
**■ ^ Beneath, the shadow of arches falls 
From the dim outline of the broken walls ; 
And the half-light steals o'er the age-worn stone 
From a midway arch where the moon looks through, 
A silver shield in the deep deep blue. 

This is the hour of ghosts that rise ; 
— Line on line of the noiseless dead — 
The clouds above are their awning spread ; 
Look into the shadow with moon-dazed eyes, 
You will see the writhing of limbs in pain, 
And the whole red tragedy over again. 

The ghostly galleys ride out and meet, 
The Caesar sits in his golden chair, 
His fingers toy with his women's hair, 
The water is blood-red under his feet, — 
Till the owl's long cry dies down with the night, 
And one star waits for the dawning light. 

Rome, 1881. 



/ 

^ 



14 



At Tiber Mouth. 

r ~PHE low plains stretch to the west with a glimmer of 
-*- rustling weeds, 

Where the waves of a golden river wind home by the 
marshy meads ; 

~\ And the strong wind born of the sea grows faint with a 

^> sickly breath, 



) ^ As it stays in the fretting rushes and blows on the dews 

4 



^, of death. 



We came to the silent city, in the glare of the noontide heat, 

When the sound of a whisper rang through the length of 
the lonely street ; 

No tree in the clefted ruin, no echo of song nor sound, 

But the dust of a world forgotten lay under the barren 
ground. 

There are shrines under these green hillocks to the beau- 
tiful gods that sleep, 

Where they prayed in the stormy season for lives gone 
out on the deep ; 

And here in the grave street sculptured, old record of 
loves and tears, 



AT TIBER MOUTH. 15 

By the dust of the nameless slave, forgotten a thousand 

years. 
Not ever again at even shall ship sail in on the breeze, 
Where the hulls of their gilded galleys came home from a 

hundred seas, 
For the marsh plants grow in her haven, the marsh birds 

breed in her bay, 
And a mile to the shoreless westward the water has 

passed away. 
But the sea-folk gathering rushes come up from the 

windy shore, 
So the song that the years have silenced grows musical 

there once more ; 
And now and again unburied, like some still voice from 

the dead, 
They light on the fallen shoulder and the lines of a 

marble head. 
But we went from the sorrowful city and wandered away 

at will, 
And thought of the breathing marble and the words that 

are music still. 
How full were their lives that laboured, in their fetterless 

strength and far 
From the ways that our feet have chosen as the sunlight 

is from the star, 
They clung to the chance and promise that once while 

the years are free 



1 6 AT TIBER MOUTH. 

Look over our life's horizon as the sun looks over the sea, 
But we wait for a day that dawns not, and cry for un- 
clouded skies, 
And while we are deep in dreaming the light that was 

o'er us dies ; 
We know not what of the present we shall stretch out our 

hand to save 
Who sing of the life we long for, and not of the life we 

have ; 
And yet if the chance were with us to gather the days 

misspent, 
Should we change the old resting-places, the wandering 

ways we went ? 
They were strong, but the years are stronger; they are 

grown but a name that thrills, 
And the wreck of their marble glory lies ghost-like over 

their hills. 
So a shadow fell o'er our dreaming for the weary heart of 

the past, 
For the seed that the years have scattered, to reap so 

little at last. 



And we went to the sea-shore forest, through a long 

colonnade of pines, 
Where the skies peep in and the sea, with a flitting of 

silver lines. 



AT TIBER MOUTH. 17 

And we came on an open place in the green deep heart of 

the wood 
Where I think in the years forgotten an altar of Faunus 

stood ; 
From a spring in the long dark grasses two rivulets rise 

and run 
By the length of their sandy borders where the snake lies 

coiled in the sun. 
And the stars of the white narcissus lie over the grass 

like snow, 
And beyond in the shadowy places the crimson cyclamens 

grow ; 
Far up from their wave home yonder the sea-winds mur- 
muring pass, 
The branches quiver and creak and the lizard starts in 

the grass. 
I And we lay in the untrod moss and pillowed our cheeks 

with flowers, 
While the sun went over our heads, and we took no count 

of the hours ; 
From the end of the waving branches and under the 

cloudless blue 
Like sunbeams chained for a banner the threadlike gos- 
samers flew. 
And the joy of the woods came o'er us and we felt that 

our world was young 
With the gladness of years unspent and the sorrow of life 

unsung. 

B 



AT TIBER MOUTH. 



'** 



So we passed with a sound of singing along to the sea- 
ward way, 

Where the sails of the fishermen folk came homeward 
over the bay ; 

For a cloud grew over the forest and darkened the sea- 
god's shrine, 

And the hills of the silent city were only a ruby line. 

But the sun stood still on the waves as we passed from the 
fading shores, 

And shone on our boat's red bulwarks and the golden 
blades of the oars, 

And it seemed as we steered for the sunset that we 
passed through a twilight sea, 

From the gloom of a world forgotten to the light of a 
world to be. 



Rome, 1881. 



s . 




19 



A Roman Mirror. 

' I "HEY found it in her hollow marble bed, 
-*- There where the numberless dead cities sleep, 
They found it lying where the spade struck deep, 
A broken mirror by a maiden dead. 

These things — the beads she wore about her throat 
Alternate blue and amber all untied, 
A lamp to light her way, and on one side 
The toll men pay to that strange ferry-boat- 
No trace to-day of what in her was fair ! 
Only the record of long years grown green 
Upon the mirror's lustreless dead sheen, 
Grown dim at last, when all else withered there. 

Dead, broken, lustreless ! It keeps for me 
One picture of that immemorial land, 
For oft as I have held thee in my hand 

The dull bronze brightens, and I dream to see 



:o A ROMAN MIRROR. 

A fair face gazing in thee wondering wise, 
And o'er one marble shoulder all the while 
Strange lips that whisper till her own lips smile, 

And all the mirror laughs about her eyes. 

It was well thought to set thee there, so she 
Might smooth the windy ripples of her hair 
And knot their tangled waywardness, or ere 

She stood before the queen Persephone. 

And still it may be where the dead folk rest, 
She holds a shadowy mirror to her eyes, 
And looks upon the changelessness, and sighs 

And sets the dead land lilies in her breast. 
is 79 . 







By the South Sea. 

O here we have sat by the sea so late, 
^ And you with your dreaming eyes 
Have argued well what I know you hate, 
Till even my own dream dies. 

Yet why will you smile at my old white years 

When love was a gift divine, 
When songs were laughter and hope and tears, 

And art was a people's shrine ? 

Must I change the burdens I loved to sing, 

The words of my worn-out song ? 
The old fair thoughts have a hollow ring, 

My faiths have been dead so long. 

And yet, — to have known that one did not know ! 

To have dreamed with the poet priest ! 
To have hope to feel that it might be so ! 

And theirs was a faith at least, 



BY THE SOUTH SEA. 

When the priest was poet, and hearts were fain 

Of marvellous things to dream, 
To see God's tears in a cloud of rain, 

And his hair on a gold sunbeam ; 

To know that the sons of the old Sea King 
Roamed under their waves at will, 

To have heard a song that the wood gods sing 
On the other side of the hill ! 

And so I had held it, — for all things blend 

In the world's great harmony, — 
That they served an end to an after-end, 

And were of the things that be. 

But now ye are bidding your God god-speed 
With his lore upon dusty shelves ; 

So wise ye are grown, ye have found no need 
For any god but yourselves. 

Ye have learnt the riddle of seas and sand, 

Of leaves in the spring uncurled ; 
There is no room left for my wonderland 

In the whole of the great wide world. 

And what have ye left for a song to say ? 

What now is a singer's fame ? 
He may startle the ear with a word one day, 

And die, — and live in a name. 



BY THE SOUTH SEA. 23 

But the world has heed unto no fair thing, 

Men pass on their soulless ways, 
They give no faith unto those who sing, 

— Give hardly a heartless praise. 

But you say, Let us go unto all wide lands, 

Let us speak to the people's heart ! 
Let us make good use of our lips and hands, 

There is hope for the world in art ! 

Will the dull ears hear, will the dead souls see ? 

Will they know what we hardly know ? 
The chords of the wonderful harmony 

Of the earth and the skies ? — if so — 

We have talked too long till it all seems vain, — 

The desire and the hopes that fired, 
The triumphs won and the meedless pain, 

And the heart that has hoped is tired. 

Do you see down there where the high cliffs shrink, 

And the ripples break on the bay, 
Our old sea boat at the white foam brink 

With the sail slackened down half-way ? 

Shall we get hence ? O fair heart's brother ! 

You are weary at heart with me, 
We two alone in the world, no other : 

Shall we go to our wide kind sea ? 






24 BY THE SOUTH SEA. 

Shall we glide away in this white moon's track ? 

Does it not seem fair in your eyes ! 
— To drift and drift with our white sail black 

In the dreamful light of the skies, 

Till the pale stars die, and some far fair shore 
Comes up through the morning haze, 

And wandering hearts shall not wander more 
Far off from the mad world's ways. 

Or still more fair — when the dim scared night 
Grows pale from the east to the west — 

If the waters gather us home, and the light 
Break through on the waves' unrest, 

And there in the gleam of the gold-washed sea, 
Which the smile of the morning brings, 

Our souls shall fathom the mystery, 
And the riddle of all these things. 

1879. 






25 



In a Church. 

r I "HIS was the first shrine lit for Queen Marie ; 
■*■ And I will sit a little at her feet, 
For winds without howl down the narrow street 
And storm-clouds gather from the westward sea. 

Sweet here to watch the peasant people pray, 
While through the crimson-shrouded window falls 
Low light of even, and the golden walls 

Grow dim and dreamful at the end of day, 

Till from these columns fades their marble sheen, 
And lines grow soft and mystical, — these wraiths 
That watch the service of the changing faiths, 

To Mary mother from the Cyprian queen. 

But aye for me this old-world colonnade 

Seems open to blue summer skies once more, 
These altars pass, and on the polished floor 

I see the lines of chequered light and shade ; 



26 IN A CHURCH. 

I seem to see the dark-browed Lybian lean 
To cool the tortured burning of the lash, 
I see the fountains as they leap and flash, 

The rustling sway of cypress set between. 

And now yon friar with the bare feet there, 
Is grown the haunting spirit of the place ; 
Ah ! brown-robed friar with the shaven face, 

The saints are weary of thy mumbled prayer. 

From matins' bell to the slow day's decline 

He sits and thumbs his endless round of beads, 
Drawls out the dreary cadence of his creeds 

And nods assent to each familiar line. 

But she the goddess whose white star is set, 

Whose fane was pillaged for this sombre shrine, 
Could she look down upon those lips of thine, 

And hear thee mutter, would she still regret ? 

There came a sound of singing on my ear, 
And slowly glided through the far-off door, 
A glimmer of grey forms like ghosts, they bore 

A dead man lying on his purple bier. 

Some poor man's soul, so little candle smoke 
Went curling upwards by the uncased shroud, 
And then a sudden thunder-clap broke loud, 

And drowned the droning of the priest who spoke. 



IN A CHURCH. 



^7 



So all the shuffling feet passed out again 
To lightnings flashing through the wet and wind, 
And while I lingered in the gate behind 

The dead man travelled through the storm and rain. 

Rome, 1881. 




2S 



At Lanuvium. 

1 ' Festo quid potius die 
Nepiuni faciam." 

Horace, Odes, iii. 28. 

O PRING grew to perfect summer in one day, 
^ And we lay there among the vines, to gaze 
Where Circe's isle floats purple, far away 
Above the golden haze : 

And on our ears there seemed to rise and fall 
The burden of an old world song we knew, 
That sang, " To-day is Neptune's festival, 
And we, what shall we do ? " 

Go down brown-armed Campagna maid of mine, 

And bring again the earthern jar that lies 
With three years' dust above the mellow wine ; 
And while the swift day dies, 

You first shall sing a song of waters blue, 
Paphos and Cnidos in the summer seas, 
And one who guides her swan-drawn chariot through 
The white-shored Cyclades ; 



AT LANUVIUM. 



29 



And I will take the second turn of song, 
Of floating tresses in the foam and surge 

Where Nereid maids about the sea-god throng ; 
And night shall have her dirge. 
1S81. 




3° 



LUCCIOLE. 

{To the author of u Pas car el") 

T7OLLOW where the night-fire leads 
-*■ Of the winged Lucciola, 

Where through waving river weeds 
Water mirrors wreathed in reeds 
Catch its glimmer from afar ; 

Where the falling water plays, 
Up the hillside, higher, higher, 

In the pathless forest ways 

Every branch is in a blaze, 
With its tiny lamps of fire. 

Are they fairies that have flown, 
Stealing glamour from a star, 
Flitting where wild weeds o'ergrown 
Keep the forest all their own ? 
Tell me of the Lucciola. 

Love they are as we to-night 
In the branches tossed above ; 



LUCCIOLE. 

Only longing in their flight 
That the moon and stars be bright, 
And the night be long for love. 

Once the Love-God seemed to sorrow 

For the tears that he had cost ; 
— Lending love to those who borrow, 
But to lose him on the morrow ; — 
For the labour he had lost. 

Fretting more that true love's sighs 

Go forgotten with the rest, 
Fretting that his best work dies, 
All the longing of the eyes, 

And the thrill from breast to breast. 

He, of all good things the giver, 

Love, gave lovers this fair thing ; 
That their vows should live for ever, 
In the lights that glance and quiver, 
Through the summer night and spring 

So that loves that rest unbroken 

Evermore recorded are, 
Every word of passion spoken, 
Every love-song has its token, 

Living in the Lucciola. 



1879. 



32 






" If any one Return." 

T WOULD we had carried him far away 
-*• To the light of this south sun land, 
Where the hills lean down to some red-rocked bay 
And the sea's blue breaks into snow-white spray 
As the wave dies out on the sand. 

Not there, not there, where the winds deface ! 

Where the storm and the cloud race by ! 
But far away in this flowerful place 
Where endless summers retouch, retrace, 

What flowers find heart to die. 

And if ever the souls of the loved, set free, 

Come back to the souls that stay, 
I could dream he would sit for awhile with me 
Where I sit by this wonderful tideless sea 

And look to the red-rocked bay, 



"IF ANY ONE RETURN." 33 

By the high cliff's edge where the wild weeds twine, 

And he would not speak or move, 
But his eyes would gaze from his soul at mine, 
My eyes that would answer without one sign, 

And that were enough for love. 

And I think I should feel as the sun went round 

That he was not there any more, 
But dews were wet on the grass-grown mound 
On the bed of my love lying underground, 

And evening pale on the shore. 
1879. 




SONNETS. 



37 



" Une Heure viendra qui tout paiera." 

T T was a tomb in Flanders, old and grey, 
■*■ A knight in armour, lying dead, unknown 

Among the long-forgotten, yet the stone 
Cried out for vengeance where the dead man lay ; 

No name was chiselled at his side to say 
What wrongs his spirit thirsted to atone, 
Only the armour with green moss o'ergrown, 

And those grim words no years had worn away. 

It may be haply in the songs of old 
His deeds were wonders to sweet music set, 
His name the thunder of a battle call, 
Among the things forgotten and untold ; 
His only record is the dead man's threat, — 
" An hour will come that shall atone for all ! " 
1879. 



ss 



Althea. 

T17HEN the last bitterness was past, she bore 
* " Her singing Caesar to the Garden Hill, 

Her fallen pitiful dead emperor. 

She lifted up the beggar's cloak he wore 
— The one thing living that he would not kill — 

And on those lips of his that sang no more, 
That world-loathed head which she found lovely still, 
Her cold lips closed, in death she had her will. 

Oh wreck of the lost human soul left free 
To gorge the beast thy mask of manhood screened ! 
Because one living thing, albeit a slave, 
Shed those hot tears on thy dishonoured grave, 
Although thy curse be as the shoreless sea, 
Because she loved, thou art not wholly fiend. 



39 



I 



Imperator Augustus. 

S this the man by whose decree abide 

The lives of countless nations, with the trace 
Of fresh tears wet upon the hard cold face ? 
He wept, because a little child had died. 



They set a marble image by his side, 
A sculptured Eros, ready for the chase ; 
It wore the dead boy's features, and the grace 

Of pretty ways that were the old man's pride. 

And so he smiled, grown softer now, and tired 

Of too much empire, and it seemed a joy 
Fondly to stroke and pet the curly head, 
The smooth round limbs so strangely like the dead, 

To kiss the white lips of his marble boy 
And call by name his little heart's-desired. 
i8 79 . 



4 o 



ATQUE IN PERPETUUM FRATER AVE ATQUE VALE. 



HTHIS was the end love made, — the hard-drawn breath, 
-*- The last long sigh that ever man sighs here ; 
And then for us, the great unanswered fear, 
Will love live on, — the other side of death ? 



Only a year and I had hoped to spend 
A life of pleasant communing, to be 
A kindred spirit holding fast to thee, 

We never thought that love had such an end. 

This was the end love made, for our delight, 

For one sweet year he cannot take away ; — 
Those tapers burning in the dim half-light, 

Those kneeling women with a cross that pray, 
And there, beneath green leaves and lilies white, 

Beyond the reach of love, our loved one lay. 

1879. 



SONGS. 






43 



Long After. 

T SEE your white arms gliding, 
A In music o'er the keys, 
Long drooping lashes hiding 

A blue like summer seas ; 
The sweet lips wide asunder, 

That tremble as you sing, 
I could not choose but wonder, 

You seemed so fair a thing. 

For all these long years after 

The dream has never died, 
I still can hear your laughter, 

Still see you at my side ; 
One lily hiding under 

The waves of golden hair ; 
I could not choose but wonder, 

You were so strangely fair. 



44 LONG AFTER. 

I keep the flower you braided 

Among those waves of gold, 
The leaves are sere and faded, 

And like our love grown old. 
Our lives have lain asunder, 

The years are long, and yet, 
I could not choose but wonder, 

I cannot quite forget. 
1880. 




45 



Where the Rhone goes down to the Sea. 

A SWEET still night of the vintage time, 
^ ** Where the Rhone goes down to the sea ; 
The distant sound of a midnight chime 

Comes over the wave to me. 
Only the hills and the stars o'erhead 
Bring back dreams of the days long dead, 

While the Rhone goes down to the sea. 

The years are long, and the world is wide, 

And we all went down to the sea ; 
The ripples splash as we onward glide, 

And I dream they are here with me — 
All lost friends whom we all loved so, 
In the old mad life of long ago, 

Who all went down to the sea. 



46 "WHERE THE RHONE GOES DOWN: 

So we passed in the golden days 
With the summer down to the sea. 

They wander still over weary ways, 
And come not again to me. 

I am here alone with the night wind's sigh, 

The fading stars, and a dream gone by, 
And the Rhone going down to the sea. 




47 



Maidenhair. 

T REMEMBER low on the water 

-*- They hung from the dripping moss 

In the broken shrine of some stream-god's daughter, 

Where the North and the South roads cross. 
And I plucked some sprays for my love to wear, 

Some tangled sprays of the maidenhair. 

So you went North with the swallow, 

Away from this Southern shore, 
And the summers pass, and the winters follow, 

And the years, but you come no more. — 
You have roses now in your breast to wear, 
And you have forgotten the maidenhair. 

And the sound of echoing laughter 

The songs that we used to sing, 
To remember these in the days long after, 

May seem but a foolish thing. 
Yet I know to me they are always fair, 
My withered sprays of the maidenhair. 

1879. 



4? 



A Song of Autumn. 

A LL through the golden weather 
^** Until the autumn fell, 
Our lives went by together 
So wildly and so well. — 

But autumn's wind uncloses 
The heart of all your flowers, 

I think as with the roses, 
So hath it been with ours. 

Like some divided river 
Your ways and mine will be, 

— To drift apart for ever, 
For ever till the sea. 

And yet, for one word spoken, 

One whisper of regret, 
The dream had not been broken 

And love were with us yet. 
1880. 



Atalanta. 

T T TAIT not along the shore, they will not come 
* * The suns go down beyond the windy seas, 
Those weary sails shall never wing them home 
O'er this white foam -; 
No voice from these 
On any landward wind that dies among the trees. 

Gone south, it niay be, rudderless, astray, 
Gone where the winds and ocean currents bore. 
Out of all tracks along the sea's highway 

This many a day, 

To some far shore 
Where never wild seas break, or any fierce winds roar. 

For there are lands ye never recked of yet 
Between the blue of stormless sea and sky, 
Beyond where any suns of yours have set, 
Or these waves fret ; 
And loud winds die 
In cloudless summertide, where those far islands lie. 



52 AT A L ANT A. 

They will not come ! for on the coral shore 
The good ship lies, by little waves caressed, 
All stormy ways and wanderings are o'er, 

No more, no more ! 

But long sweet rest, 
In cool green meadow-lands, that lie along the West. 

Or if beneath far fathom depths of waves 
She lies heeled over by the slow tide's sweep, 
Deep down where never any swift sea raves, 

Through ocean caves, 

A dreaming deep 
Of softly gliding forms, a glimmering world of sleep. 

Then have they passed beyond the outer gate 
Through death to knowledge of all things, and so 
From out the silence of their unknown fate 
They bid us wait, 
Who only know 
That twixt their loves and ours the great seas ebb and 
flow. 
1880. 



53 



"When I am Dead." 

A 17 HEN I am dead, my spirit 

* * Shall wander far and free, 
Through realms the dead inherit 

Of earth and sky and sea ; 
Through morning dawn and gloaming, 

By midnight moons at will, 
By shores where the waves are foaming, 

By seas where the waves are still. 
I following late behind you, 

In wingless sleepless flight, 
Will wander till I find you, 

In sunshine or twilight ; 
With silent kiss for greeting 

On lips and eyes and head, 
In that strange after-meeting 

Shall love be perfected. 
We shall lie in summer breezes 

And pass where whirlwinds go, 
And the Northern blast that freezes 

Shall bear us with the snow. 



54 "WHEN I AM DEAD." 

We shall stand above the thunder, 

And watch the lightnings hurled 
At the misty mountains under, 

Of the dim forsaken world. 
We shall find our footsteps' traces, 

And passing hand in hand 
By old familiar places, 

We shall laugh, and understand. 

1881. 




55 



"Those Days are long departed." 

'T^HOSE days are long departed, 
-*- Gone where the dead dreams are, 
Since we two children started 
To look for the morning star. 

We asked our way of the swallow 
In his language that we knew, 

We were sad we could not follow 
So swift the blue bird flew. 

We set our wherry drifting 

Between the poplar trees, 
And the banks of meadows shifting 

Were the shores of unknown seas. 

We talked of the white snow prairies 
That lie by the Northern lights, 

And of woodlands where the fairies 
Are seen in the moonlit nights. 



56 "THOSE DAYS ARE LONG DEPARTED. 

Till one long day was over 
And we grew too tired to roam, 

And through the corn and clover 
We slowly wandered home. 

Ah child ! with love and laughter 
We had journeyed out so far ; 

We who went in the big years after 
To look for another star ; 

But I go unbefriended 

Through wind and rain and foam, — 
One day was hardly ended 

When the angel took you home. 

1881. 







57 



After Heine. 

T T OW the mirrored moonbeams quiver 
■*- On the waters' fall and rise, 

Yet the moon serene as ever 

Wanders through the quiet skies. 

Like the mirrored moonlight's fretting 
* Are the dreams I have of you, 
For my heart will beat, forgetting 
You are ever calm and true. 




5§ 



Endymion. 

QHE came upon me in the middle day, 
^ Bowed o'er the waters of a mountain mere 
Where dimly mirrored in the ripple's play 
I saw some fair thing near. 

I saw the waters lapping round her feet, 

The widening rings spread, follow out and die, 
I saw the mirror and the mirrored meet, 
And heard a voice hard by. 

So I, Endymion, who lay bathing there, 

Half-hidden in the coolness of the lake, 
Looked up and swept away my long wild hair, 
And knew a goddess spake ; 

A form white limbed and peerless, far above 

The very fairest of imagined things, 
The perfect vision of a dream of love 

Stepped through the water-rings ; 



ENDYMION. 59 

That breathed soft names and drew me to her arms, 

White arms and clinging in a long caress, 
And won me willing, by the magic charms 
Of perfect loveliness : 

Till on my breast a throbbing bosom lies ; 

The dim hills waver and the dark woods roll, 
For all the longing of two glorious eyes 
Takes hold upon my soul. 

Then only when the sudden darkness fell 
Upon the silver of the mountain mere, 
And through the pine trees of the slanting dell, 
The moon rose cold and clear. 

I seemed alone upon the dewy shore, — 

For she had left me as she came unwarned ; — 
And fell from sighing into sleep, before 
The summer morning dawned. 

What wonder now I find no maiden fair 

Who dwells between these mountains and the seas ? 
And go unloving and unloved, or ere 
I turn to such as these. 

What wonder if the light of those wide eyes 

Makes other eyes seem cold ; for that loud laughter 
Lost love have nothing left but sighs 
For all the time hereafter. 



60 ENDYMION. 

Yet better so, far better, no regret 

Can touch my heart for that sweet memory's sake, 
But only sighing for the sun that set 
Behind the summer lake. 



But yestermorn it was, the second night 

Comes softly stealing over yon blue steep ; 
The world grows silent in the fading light, 
There is no joy but sleep. 

— I cannot bear her fair face in the skies 

Beyond the drowsy waving of the trees, — 
A soft breeze kisses round my heavy eyes, 
A restful summer breeze. 

What means this dreamless apathy of sleep? 

— A mist steals over the dim lake, the shore, 
Until my closing eyes forget to weep — 
Oh, let me wake no more ! 






& 



6i 



Disillusion. 

A H ! what would youth be doing 
-^*- To hoist his crimson sails, 
To leave the wood-doves cooing, 

The song of nightingales ; 
To leave this woodland quiet 

For murmuring winds at strife, 
For waves that foam and riot 

About the seas of life. 

From still bays silver sanded 

Wild currents hasten down, 
To rocks where ships are stranded 

And eddies where men drown. 
Far out, by hills surrounded, 

Is the golden haven gate, 
And all beyond unbounded 

Are shoreless seas of fate. 



62 DISILLUSION. 

They steer for those far highlands 

Across the summer tide, 
And dream of fairy islands 

Upon the further side. 
They only see the sunlight, 

The flashing of gold bars, 
But the other side is moonlight 

And glimmer of pale stars. 

They will not heed the warning 

Blown back on every wind, 
For hope is born with morning, 

The secret is behind. 
Whirled through in wild confusion 

They pass the narrow strait, 
To the sea of disillusion 

That lies beyond the gate. 




63 



Requiescat. 

HE had the poet's eyes, 
— Sing to him sleeping,- 
Sweet grace of low replies, 
— Why are we weeping ? — 

He had the gentle ways, 

— Fair dreams befall him ! — 

Beauty through all his days, 
— Then why recall him ? — 

That which in him was fair 

Still shall be ours : 
Yet, yet my heart lies there 

Under the flowers. 



1881. 



ij 






a 8 



*,; 



*I 













' . • * * «G V c> *o , , * j\ s 

% 4* VWV.% ♦ **&:.% -0*°.. 










^ 



.«* 








.,..*, 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




014 527 194 $\ 



HH 


Wfib 


H 

■ 

m H 


H 









I 



&s 



